High Mountain Drifter (27 page)

Trying to pretend it didn't hurt, she squared her shoulders, rose out of the chair and hurried down the stairs. She had a ranch to run and cowboys to feed. The past was over and done with. That's the way she wanted it to be.

In the cozy parlor, Verbena thumbed off her thimble. Hailie's dress was taking shape. She'd stitched the long seams first--skirt side seams, bodice seams, sleeve seams. Basting stitches held the dress together at the waist and shoulders. She needed to take this down the hill, so Hailie could put it on. Just to make sure before the final stitching. She wanted Hailie to have plenty of shoulder room when she picked up her sword to slay warrior enemies and dangerous dragons.

"Wow, you've made great progress." Rose poked her head into the room. "It's a wonder you could get so much done with all that banging overhead."

"Tyler's crew is a little noisy," she agreed, folding the dress carefully. "It doesn't bother the sewing much. I used to work at Mrs. Gurdy's sewing shop, remember? Or, more accurately, the next thing closest to a women's hard labor prison camp."

"Funny. Guess all that suffering from tough work conditions paid off. Look at that." Rose came over to admire the flared little skirt and the simple bodice. "That is a sweet shade of blue. She'll be a doll in this."

"I know. I can't wait to see it on her." Verbena tucked the raw hem of the skirt carefully into place and reached for her pin cushion. "Do you want to come with me?"

"Sure. I'd love some fresh air. Especially since we're free again." Rose sauntered out of sight, her voice echoing in the high-ceilinged foyer. "Oh! There's someone at our door."

On cue, a single light rap tapped on the door.

For no reason--no
logical
reason--hope lifted Verbena across the room, her heart wishing even though her head knew there was no way it could be Zane.

"It's for you," Rose said, with a nose wrinkle, and lifted her coat from its coat tree hook. "I can tell him you're not home."

"Him? Him, who?" She skidded to a stop in the entry and spotted a bowler hat and the rounded, narrow shoulder of a man wearing an old brown coat. She groaned. Not Lawrence Latimer! She let out a tired sigh.

"I'll deal with him," she said, keeping her voice low just in case it carried through the windows and door. "Be nice, Rose."

"I'm trying, but it's hard." Rose winked, retreated back a few steps. "I'll be here for moral support."

"Thanks. I might need it." She straightened her spine, prepared herself as best as she could and turned the doorknob. Poor Lawrence instantly turned on the charm, his narrow face lighting up, the ends of his handlebar mustache bobbing as he smiled.

"Verbena, my fair lady, how are you on this fine afternoon?" He swept off his hat, showing a hint of a bald spot, and bowed like a duke at Windsor Castle. "I heard the good news."

"You must mean about Ernest and that Mr. Klemp." Verbena spotted the donkey and the cart parked at the edge of the lawn. Poor Lawrence. He wasn't a prosperous fellow, nor was he handsome or well-built, but he did have kind eyes. As if he'd never dream of hurting a woman in his care. That was what mattered. Not that she was interested, of course, but it was why she felt sorry for him. "Yes, I am very relieved those men are behind bars. We can finally get back to normal."

"Speaking of which, would you be so kind as do me the honor of going on a drive with me this Sunday?" Lawrence placed his hat over his heart, perhaps he meant it to be a dashing gesture. His brown puppy-dog eyes pleaded with her, hinting at the importance of his question and perhaps how hard it had been for him to come and knock on the door in the first place.

"I'm sorry, but no." She said it as gently as she could. She felt horrible. Poor Lawrence.

"Oh." Lawrence deflated. His shoulders slumped. The tightly curled ends of his mustache drooped as he frowned. She glimpsed a hint of loneliness before he shook off his disappointment and plopped his hat back on his head. "Perhaps another time then. Have a good evening, beautiful lady."

"You too, Lawrence." It didn't hurt to be kind to the poor fellow, and as she closed the door she saw Rose hold back a laugh.

"Okay, I really am trying not to," Rose said. "But he's just so, well, out of place here. He's not exactly your typical Montana man."

"No," she agreed, her mind zipping straight to a certain Montana man who was the epitome of the image. Her chest filled with the achy pain of missing him. "Maybe I've discouraged Lawrence enough without hurting his feelings."

"We can only hope." Rose shook out her coat and slipped one arm into the sleeve. "It seems kind of lonely outside without the cowboys out there. I kind of got used to having them around."

"I know what you mean," Verbena agreed. "Although I'm glad they don't have to stand in the cold for us."

"Exactly. Think of Burton, nice and warm in the bunkhouse, playing checkers with the other guys. That's a nice picture, isn't it?"

"Yes. You know, we should do something for the men." Verbena retrieved the folded-up dress from the parlor. "I know they're on salary at the ranch, so they were paid to protect us. But still."

"They were very devoted." Rose buttoned up her coat. "We could bake for them. Iris has worked me like crazy today, but after we deliver all the baked goodies tomorrow, my day is free."

"Mine, too." She tried not to think of Zane's return. Waiting for him would be excruciating. Best to keep busy, the time would go faster. Resolved, she set her sewing project on the entry table and yanked her coat off its hook. "It's settled. We'll bake for them."

"Cookies this time." Rose cinched up her sash, drawing the warm wool coat in at her slender waist. "I'm tired of cakes. Cookies would be a fun change. We could do different kinds so the cowboys could have their pick. Oatmeal raisin."

"Chocolate with chocolate shavings." Liking the idea, Verbena shrugged into her coat, thinking of the possibilities. "Macaroons."

"Oh, absolutely. We'll use Ma's recipe. To die for." Rose tugged her knit cap, adorable with her gold curls sprawling everywhere. "And snickerdoodles, too."

"Tomorrow is going to be fun." Already looking forward to the laughter in the kitchen--what Iris was going to think of this, she didn't know--Verbena pulled on a knitted hat and dug gloves out of her coat pockets. She put them on as she went, with the dress tucked in the crook of her arm. "Maybe the McPhee Bakery should add cookies to their menu."

"The McPhee Sisters Bakery," Rose said, traipsing down the hallway, oval face scrunched up as she considered it. "I like that better."

"Me, too," Verbena agreed. Every light in the kitchen was on, gleaming on counters, brightening the cream walls, highlighting Iris and Magnolia as they started supper prep. "We need a sign or something. Or at least an order sheet."

"I'll get right on it, as I have artistic talents," Rose said, heading straight for the backdoor. "Unlike some people."

Verbena laughed when Magnolia looked up from kneading bread, a streak of flour across her forehead.

"Hey!" Magnolia feigned insult. "Just because my artistic ability is limited to stick figure drawings doesn't mean I can't help."

"That would be a disaster," Iris predicted as she seared a cut of beef in a skillet. "Keep Magnolia out of it. Daisy and I get final approval."

"What do I get?" Verbena asked as Rose opened the door.

"Don't worry, you're still our official taste-tester," Rose assured her. "Iris, we're heading down to Beckett's cottage. We won't be long."

"Be back in an hour," Iris called after them over the sizzle of meat and spit of grease. "Keep an eye on the time."

"She knows us too well." Rose clomped out onto the porch, swinging the door shut behind her. "Hey, there's our resident sparrow. Fly south, Mrs. Bird."

The little brown sparrow perched on a far rail, glared across the porch at them. Not only was she not afraid of them, she'd hopped in, hoping to fly through the door they'd opened. Her failure apparently angered her, judging by the way she opened her beak and scolded them.

"Do you think she's planning to winter here? All the other birds have gone." Rose asked as they charged across the lawn. The frozen blades of grass crunched and crackled beneath their shoes. "She must have liked living in our parlor back when the house was a disaster."

"And inhabited by wildlife," Verbena recalled fondly. "Remember Magnolia sweeping those snakes out of the bedrooms?"

"It gives me the shivers." To prove it, Rose gave a shivery shudder. "At least it's November. Most snakes are hibernating or whatever it is they do."

"I'm glad for that. Look, snow." Verbena held out one hand, palm up, watching a dainty white flake land on her knit glove. You could just see the snow in the twilight haze, tumbling in a graceful, twirling dance, white against shadowed sky and forest. "It feels great to be outside on our own, doesn't it?"

"Yep, without a single worry." Rose stretched out her arms and twirled.

It looked like fun, so Verbena did it too, careful not to drop the fabric bundle she carried. She raised her face to the sky, let the tiny snowflakes tap on her warm skin, felt them catch in her eyelashes and melt on her lips. Too soon they were in the tree line, the grand boughs of evergreens reaching over them like canopies, catching the snow for themselves. At the far edges of the western horizon, the first blazing colors of sunset painted the rim of the clouds in bright purples and pinks.

The Rocking M Ranch spread out before them in a patchwork of meadows full of grazing livestock and buildings with lamp-lit windows. Beckett's cottage was the nearest dwelling, tucked in the shelter of evergreens. When they got close, they could hear laughter muffled by the thick log walls. An unfamiliar horse stood obediently, tied to the porch step railing. The little spotted mare blew out a breath in a horsy welcome, eyeing them curiously.

"Hey, pretty girl." Verbena held out her hand first, eager to pet her.

Rose crowded in too. "Ooh, you are absolutely lovely. You have gorgeous polka dots."

The mare seemed to appreciate the compliment, giving a little low-throated nicker of thanks.

The door swung open and Daisy stood in the frame of light, beaming and beautiful. Her molasses hair was tied back, and errant, curling wisps framed her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes shimmered with happiness. "I thought I heard voices. Come in. Penelope is here. She's doing her schoolteacher rounds."

"Most excellent." Verbena gave the mare a final pat and charged up the steps, eager to see her new friend. She spotted the quiet and lovely Penelope Shalvis seated in the front room, in the chair closest to the fire.

"Verbena!" Penelope's soft oval face flushed with pleasure. "It's so good to see you again. You too, Rose. I had such a great time at your sewing get together. I'm looking forward to doing it again."

"Us, too. We're working on setting something up." Verbena shrugged out of her coat just in time to greet Hailie who dashed up to meet her.

"Is that my new dress?" Hailie flipped a brown braid behind her shoulder, dancing in place. "It is! Do I get to try it on? Can I, can I?"

"That's why we're here." Verbena unrolled the dress, careful of the long basting stitches. "I want to make sure it fits before I keep going. Hi there, Beckett. It's good to see you up and at 'em."

"It feels good, too." The big, tall, handsome cowboy ambled in from the kitchen, carrying two steaming mugs. "Want me to fetch you some tea too?"

"I'll get it myself," Rose volunteered, scooting away to the kitchen in the adjacent room. "Can I get you anything, Penelope?"

"No, thank you, I'm good," Penelope answered cheerily.

"Look how beautiful this dress is." Daisy sidled in to admire Hailie's garment. "You do good work, Verbena. It's going to be the best dress in all of Bluebell."

"That's the idea." Verbena handed the princess style frock over to its future owner. "Go put it on. Hurry, because we're on a time limit. Iris expects us back when supper's ready."

"Penelope was just telling us about her first few weeks teaching here in Bluebell," Daisy said, as Hailie dashed across the room and down the hall. A gray-muzzled dog lifted his head from his pillow by the fire and gave a howdy-do pant before going back to his nap.

"It must be very different from teaching in Boston." Verbena, eager to learn more about her new friend, settled into the first empty chair she came to. As Penelope launched into a funny story, Rose came in with steaming cups of tea, and Verbena leaned in to listen.

Life had returned to normal--no, she thought as the fire flashed and danced in the grate and laughter rose up all around her. This was better than normal. Ernest had come close to breaking her, he'd wanted to steal this life from her. But he'd failed. She'd never been more grateful as she listened to Penelope continue on with her story.

Zane turned his back to the wind-driven snow as he tied Winchester and Scout to the hitching post. Bear Hollow was busy, teaming with folks rushing about on last minute errands before the shops closed or in a mad dash to get home to family and supper.

Half frozen, he'd ridden hard all day without the luxury of stopping to eat or warm up in a hotel's dining room. No, today he had only one thing on his mind. Getting back to Bluebell as fast as he could.

"All right, time to dismount." He circled over to Scout, where Klemp had earned the privilege of sitting up instead of riding head down all afternoon.

The captured man's weathered face was pruned with held-back self-pity, anger and hopelessness. Zane hauled out his knife and sliced the ropes holding Klemp to the horse. The hemp broke apart and the old man, half-frozen too, slid to the ground and hit hard.

Oops.

"You okay there?" He tucked his rifle into the crook of his arm and grabbed Klemp by the back of the collar. The criminal didn't answer. Unsympathetic, Zane hauled the man to his feet. "Move."

Klemp clunked forward, leg irons allowing him small, duck-like steps. At the steps up to the boardwalk, he stopped, stymied on how to get up them. Zane hauled him up by the collar. No time to waste. He shoved Klemp onto the boardwalk, startling a pair of women passing by.